Once upon a transient moment, somewhere between your next breath and it’s forgotten twin, there was a little boy named Elias. He never went anywhere by choice, only followed the avenues dictated by the wind. Its whispers spoke of buried treasure but mostly oblivion and odd memories that belonged to others.
Above, a clock hung without hands, ticking backwards in perfect haphazard rhythm. The townsfolk avoided eyes contact, yet they saw everything. Shadows walked beside them, mimicking their movements, a silent choreography of the unseen.
Elias stumbled upon a peculiar sign — although he couldn't recall how it looked, he could almost hear its tragic story. It bore messages unknown and paths hidden from sight, urging him toward the diverging road. And so he walked into the fog, not knowing where that would lead him, not fearing the destination.